


at last it spins 'round right

by geode



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, M/M, Speech Disorders, can't get over baby bro thor, french frigga is everything, tbh i am odin @ feelings, this oneshot happened instead of writing up the huge universe i had planned for this sigh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7988032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geode/pseuds/geode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Loki's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at last it spins 'round right

At 7:01am, a pillow hits Loki in the face.

“Happy birthday!” Thor yells, his voice cutting through Loki’s rather nice dream about Han Solo, and pulling him into reality. Thor throws his small body onto the bed, winding his brother.

“Oh my _god_ , get off me,” Loki complains, wrenching his eyes open to the blurry sight of the seven year old trying to crawl under his duvet. He bats half-heartedly at him, but promptly gives in, as usual.

He yawns, pops some joints, blinks a couple times. _Frigging mornings._

Pale light filters through the thin curtains, casting weird, familiar shadows over the model Enterprise hanging from his ceiling. Thor appears next to Loki’s face, beaming. Loki can’t help smiling back and ruffle his already messy blonde hair. He hates waking up early, really he does: he’d so much prefer to watch Red Dwarf until 3am and wake at noon. But he also loves the living crap out of his brother, with his hyperactivity, contagious gappy smile and big heart. He’s like a puppy.

“I got you a present,” Thor announces, only faltering slightly on the ‘g’; he must’ve practised this conversation a lot. The realisation makes Loki’s heart swell, ‘cause he knows how much effort it takes for him to get it right. Thor awkwardly untangles one of his arms from the sheets and points across the room, in doing so hitting Loki in the chin. Loki just rolls his eyes, used to his brother’s clumsiness. He rolls over to spy his present.

It’s a VCR, something Loki’s wanted for ages but couldn’t find anyone local to sell him one. It sits happily under his TV set, a red gift-bow stuck lopsidedly to it.

“Now you can watch ‘The-’, ‘The Breakfast Club’.” Thor says, which is true. Loki owns a whole stack of movies he bought for, like, 50 cents and hasn’t watched because he never had the means to.

Loki laughs gleefully, wrapping his long arms around the younger boy. “Thanks, baby bro. It’s the best present ever.”

Thor grins at him, wriggling in his grasp.

 

Ten minutes later, the two of them are sitting at the kitchen table wearing shiny party hats. Loki’s is green, Thor’s blue. Four poptarts are stuffed inside the toaster, and Loki’s flicking Lucky Stars at Thor, who’s attempting to catch them in his mouth.

“Morning,” Frigga greets, entering the kitchen and heading straight for the fridge. She nods to Loki’s hat. “Suits you, Loks, honey. You should wear it to school.”

Thor squeals delightedly, clapping his hands, adding to the whole seal look he had going on. “Yes!”

Loki groans, standing to hug his mother. “Thanks a bunch,” he mutters fondly, kissing her on the cheek.

She winks at him. “ _Bon anni_ , darling.”

The toaster pings, and Loki serves himself and Thor. Thor adds sprinkles onto his, but Loki politely declines. He will only go so far. He does accept a candle wedged into the pastry though, and sits through his mum and brother singing the inevitable _happy birthday to youuuuuuuu_ \- off-key in Thor’s case, beautifully in Frigga’s.

The phone on the windowsill starts buzzing on the last ‘birthday’. Frigga dances over to it, finishing the song before answering the call.

“Hello? _Salut_ , cher. Nice to hear from you. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Loki, it’s your father.”

Loki clears his throat, putting the poptart back on his plate. He brushes crumbs off his pyjamas, even though there’s no need. _Can’t see through phones, idiot._

“Hey, dad,” he says into the receiver. Wait, Odin-mode. Too informal. Next time try ‘good day, sir’.

“Hello, Loki. I’m just calling to wish you a happy birthday.”

Loki swallows. “Thank you, dad.” he replies carefully.

Odin grunts and doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Well.” he concludes.

“Yes.” Loki agrees enthusiastically. Odin hangs up. Loki exhales deeply.

Frigga replaces the phone on the windowsill, smiling. “Isn’t it good to hear from him? Papa says hi, Thor.”

Both the boys nod distractedly, occupied with thoughts and food. Loki contemplates the somewhat brief interaction, and decides it had been quite a lot better than the last time they spoke. He’s pleased. It’s not that he doesn’t like his father, they’re just… on different pages. Of different books. In different alphabets. Yeah.

 

Loki gets dressed to _Saint Motel_ , and by the time he’s got to go, his mood has soared to sky-high.

He leaps down the carpeted stairs bellowing the lyrics to 'Benny Goodman' (except with his own name, naturally). Thor’s in the hall, clutching his satchel; Loki picks him up and spins him around while he sings the final bar.

“You wanna walk avec moi, squirt?” he offers on a whim. They usually part at the door, even though their schools are adjacent to each other. Thor beams at him for the second time in an hour, and Loki could stay in this moment forever, he really could. “Mum, I’m gonna take Thor in today!” he informs the house in general, setting Thor down and grabbing his hand. “Au revior!”

“Au revoir!” Thor echoes. As always, Loki marvels at how good his French pronunciation is compared to his English.

“Bye!” Frigga’s faint voice replies.

“C’mon,” He tugs the kid through the front door.

Sitting on the low wall outside the house, facing away, is Tony, in his favourite (tatty) red hoodie and faded jeans. His brown hair is in typical bed-head style. He’s also playing air guitar to some song pumping on his iPod. Loki snorts.

“Loser.” he scoffs loudly, making Tony jump and one earbud fall out. He turns around and sees Loki. He breaks into a grin and launches himself at his best friend.

“Hey, you,” he murmurs into Loki’s neck. “Happy birthday, man.”

Loki hugs him back, not letting go of Thor’s fingers. “Cheers. You mind if T-man joins us today?"

Tony's expression slips just a little, but he says “Sure,” brightly, takes Thor’s free hand. Hardly noticeable.

“Hiya, big guy. How’ve you been?”

“Excellent, thank you.” Thor answers on automatic, bouncing between them.

“Comment le français?”

“Bon aussi.”

“Fantastique. I see you’ve made Loki here wear a festive hat.”

Loki watches them, as he always watches when Tony and Thor are together. It’s brings an entirely new meaning to ‘family’. Tony lifts their clasped hands so Thor’s flying, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Thor giggles, and Loki’s suddenly overwhelmed by how much he loves these guys. _Wow, though_. It’s a lot. Like, ‘I’d be okay if I only had you’ kinda love. And that’s scary, ‘cause there are tons of amazing people, like his mum, and Bruce, and Dylan O’brien, but Loki’d be okay if he only had them. Tony and Thor, for eternity. He’d be okay. And it’s not even like this feeling is new to him, it’s that it… just solidified.

_Dude, you’re going sappy. You’ve turned seventeen, not into Rachel McAdams._

 

Once Thor’s been dispatched to BHLE, Loki and Tony amble through school in companionable silence for a while. They stop at the Stage, and perch on the wooden steps to kill some time before lessons. Loki leans back on his elbows to drink in the sun. Damn his pasty palette. He could totally be bronzed if he wanted.

Tony coughs as an opening line, and proceeds to fumble in his backpack, blushing. “I, er, got you a present. Obviously. I get you shit all the time, even when it’s not your birthday. Um. But this is, er.” 

He produces a small box in black gift-wrap, which on closer inspection is the night sky. On closer closer inspection, it turns out to be the night sky in summer. He presses it into Loki’s palm and pushes his glasses further up his nose nervously.

Ever so delicately, Loki peels off the paper. It’s a jewellery box, for a necklace or some such thing.

“Tony,” he murmurs, not looking away from the box, because he already knows it’s going to be beautiful. Everything Tony gets for him is.

He opens it.

“A FUCKING SAMULET!” he yells. His face splits into what feels like the widest smile he’s ever smiled. He throws himself at Tony, who falls backwards onto the step. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouloveyou!” he cries, squeezing the life out of his friend.

“Glad you like it.” Tony says, muffled.

“You’re my favourite person.” Loki tells him, finally releasing the boy. Tony’s as red as his hoodie, chuffed.

Loki puts the amulet on. It’s the real deal, too. It’s practically the exact-

“Tony, this is a… replica, right?”

“Um.” Tony somehow goes redder.

“Holy shit, dude. How much-? No, don’t answer that. I mean, I know you’re minted but this… _Tony_. Oh my freaking-”

“You’re worth it,” Tony blurts, and then shakes his head quickly as if he can’t believe he said that. “Er. Making you happy’s worth it.” he amends. Loki stares at him. It’s moments like these that confuse the hell out of him, because:

“I-“

The bell rings. ‘Saved’ isn’t how Loki feels, to be honest.

 

**Laufeyson. We need to talk.**

Loki recognises the scrawl immediately. He glances at Tony across the classroom and mouths, _“huh?”_. A minute later, a second note finds its way onto his desk.

**(Or rather, Banner’s blackmailing me to spill the beans.)**

‘blackmailing me to’ had actually been crossed out in a different hand (Bruce’s, presumably) and in its place was written ‘recommended that I’.

He writes **Beans?** underneath and sends the note back, chuckling to himself about how ridiculous his question in fact was.

It’s about fifteen minutes before he gets a reply this time, and Loki’d all but forgotten about it, concentrating on his work. He’s accustomed to Tony sending him shit in class: over the years he’s accumulated a drawer-full of hastily scribbled messages, half-drawn designs for inventions and amusing comic strips of teachers. It’s nothing unusual, this note, so he doesn’t lose any sleep over it.

That is, until the note returns with an extra piece of paper taped to it to accommodate all the writing.

**Basically, thing is, I’ve been sort of keeping a massive secret from you for roughly the whole time we’ve known each other? It’s an awkward one, and I never wanted to dampen our friendship with my salty, salty tears, so I guess I never felt I could tell you. Not that you’re not approachable or anything. Or judgemental. I mean you ARE, but in an okay way. I mean. I guess I never felt it… right… that I tell you, yeah, that’s it. God, how am I rambling in a NOTE, jfc. Anyways. The secret. Yes. You gotta promise you won’t hate me, I couldn’t stand that. I know you won’t though. You’re not like that. Um. Basically, thing is, because it’s your birthday and you’re finally a man or whatever, it’s high time you knew about. This. Me. *makes vague hand gestures* You’ve probably figured it out already. I’m not really famous for my subtlety. But we’ve got this far, so you mustn’t have. Wow, I should NOT have done this in a fucking note. Okay. Okay, I’ll start with an example. You know that time we went to Lucy's Diner because I said I was cold and we got a window booth and I said I could only afford one float so we shared and we talked about ‘Some Like It Hot’ and then we went to my house afterwards because I said I was tired and we watched ‘Operation Petticoat’? Yeah, well, I’m not in fact a buttcake who complains all the time like you musta thought. I had ulterior motives. I had an image of how I wanted the day to go. I envisioned, Loks. And what I envisioned was you laughing at my terrible jokes and stealing the ice cream and talking about the 60s’ like you were there and falling asleep on my shoulder before the credits and maybe staying the night in the end, and what does that sound like? A frigging Sterek fanfic, that’s what. So. There.**

Loki looks at the piece of paper. He looks at it for ages. He reads it again. He runs a hand through his hair. He eventually glances across the room and mouths the most expressive _“huh?!”_ imaginable. _So_ many interrobangs. 

Tony doesn’t see anyway - he’s apparently finding Government interesting today - but Bruce did. 

A paper aeroplane lands on Loki’s text book within three seconds. It had been prepared earlier, it seems. Bruce has written five words on the underside of the plane. 

Translation: he like-likes you. 

_Oh._

And so Loki sits on the back row of Room 203 between a jock and a girl with pigtails and has an _epiphany_. Because it’s obvious now. 

All those things Tony did inexplicably. The times Loki caught him looking at him. How Tony drops everything to come round if Loki wants him to. The way he plays with Loki’s hair during movies. How he walks Loki to his door after every evening they go out someplace, like a real fucking date. 

This has been going on for years. 

“How could I have been so stupid,” Loki mutters, but he’s smiling; he’s beaming. How is this at all a bad thing? They could… be. They _could_ , now. It would be so fucking lovely. 

Loki catches Tony’s arm as he’s leaving the classroom. Tony avoids his eyes, and at this Loki rolls his own. He entwines his fingers with his best friend. Tony looks up, startled. “Let’s skip school. I know a place.” Loki tugs. Tony gazes at him, then their hands, then him again. 

“Okay.” he says simply, voice hoarse. “Okay.” 

They kiss for the first time on a park bench overlooking the forest, Loki wearing his party hat, knocked askew by slow hands through hair. His thought process is like a fractured dream. 

Once, Tony laughs. 

"What?” 

Brown meets green. “I just. This is happening.” 

“You dork.” Loki tilts his head, lips turned upwards slightly. “It was kind of inevitable.” 


End file.
